Chapter Thirteen #2
Perhaps I expected too much of the royal library to contain at least some demonic, necromantic, or blood magic knowledge. For all I know, what I needed would have been in the Moon Temple library—blood magic rituals weren’t shied away from there.
Nor would I be surprised to learn it was that knowledge Netharis ordered his demons to turn to ash.
This game of the gods… I’m always a step behind.
When I don’t want to be a player.
I’ve never wanted to.
Maybe I will take Eve’s joking suggestion. Certainly nothing could go wrong placing an ad in the daily paper calling for necromancers or blood mages in a country where both practices are illegal.
I understand the apprehension surrounding both.
But the magic itself isn’t inherently evil. It serves a purpose.
It can be used in ways that aren’t damning.
This fae Joining is a perfect example.
Through the window before me, the first beams of the rising sun crest from behind the castle and spill onto the courtyard below. The veilflower leaves shift, swinging toward the east, and glitter in the light. Thousands of leaves shimmer, some larger than I am tall.
Several dark blue robed researchers scramble, those too stubborn to sleep. They snatch their notepads, scribbling frantically, their eyes wide as they note the anomaly happening before them.
Why wouldn’t veilflowers enjoy the sun while they’re here?
The veil’s skies are perpetually gray.
More researchers will be joining those in the courtyard soon, ready to return to work.
The castle is now plagued with them. When they’re not in the courtyard, they’re in the library, clearing my cluttered books in favor of their own messes.
They’re in the dining room, the breakfast parlor, the foyer offices…
I can’t get away from them.
It reminds me of temple life.
Instead of silver and black robes, they’re navy.
Instead of prayer at dawn and dusk, they’re meeting to share their findings and observations. They take their meals together, forming small, familiar bands.
And once again, I find myself observing from a distance.
“Are you venturing into the city for today’s celebration?” A feminine voice from behind pulls me from my thoughts.
I shift away from the window, glancing over my shoulder to find a pair of researchers emerge from the library the floor below.
A human woman and fae female, both with their hair piled atop their heads in hastily created buns complete with an array of writing tools fashioned like quills.
As I slip closer to the banister unnoticed, I lend them my ear from above, and nothing else.
“Oh, for the autumnal equinox?” the human asks. “I’m thinking about it.”
That’s right.
That would be today.
Which means the city is going to be packed with people. What a terrible time for it. Those who travel into Ollora for the festivities will also be enticed to swing by the castle courtyard.
I don’t envy Ryc.
Today is going to be busy.
“I rarely visit Ollora,” she continues. “But the king made his expectations clear. I don’t think I can take the time away.”
The fae’s laughter tinkles. “The veilflowers aren’t going anywhere. And the sooner we finish the king’s task, the sooner we return to our previous projects.”
A groan trails from the human as they swing around the landing. “I’m not ready to go back to the cold.”
“Snowing already up near the Vugura border?”
My eyes narrow and the rest of their conversation falls upon deaf ears.
The Vugura Kingdom?
The home of vampires?
With a single tilt and immediate immeasurable regret, I finish my cold tea, leaving the mug upon the banister as my feet rush toward the stairs.
The Dark Hunt is set to start any day now.
And if Vaelyn is anything like our father, Indui’s Blessed will be invited to attend.
I know how to reach Ylara.
I just have to make a deal with ancient vampires to do it.
?????????????
“The Dark Hunt,” I say as I burst through the ground floor study door without knocking. “I can reach—”
The words find a swift death on my tongue as two faces swing to greet me.
Ryc, I expected.
Fenryn, I did not.
Halting in the doorway, my grip upon the doorknob turns crushing.
And I stammer, trying to offer a smile.
Why is the Sovereign King of Sol here now?
“Good morn,” Ryc greets warmly, cutting through my nonsensical noise. His face lights up with a handsome grin, silencing me.
A smile like his shouldn’t do what it does—it shouldn’t steal my breath and empty my head.
“Progress with your sleuthing?” Ryc asks as I continue to loiter in the doorway, not yet finding the ability to command my feet.
“I’m happy to discuss my thoughts once Fenryn leaves,” I reply and Fenryn laughs. “Find me after.”
The door catches as I swing it closed and peering over my shoulder, I meet Ryc’s stare. Gently, he pulls it open, steps into the hall, and closes it behind him.
“Give Fenryn the chance to prove himself, little love,” he says, his voice low and quiet.
Voices tend to carry through the foyer.
Since the sudden remodeling of his third floor study, Ryc’s relocated to the unused study on the ground floor. He fed castle staff lies, convincing ones, to protect me and hide what I’d done. Of course, they didn’t question.
“What is he doing here?” I ask in a fierce whisper.
As much as I like Fenryn, he’s in a position of power. One that could make our lives difficult—more difficult. I’d much prefer keeping him at a distance until things aren’t quite as messy.
“He’s an ally,” Ryc answers softly. “Allies meet.”
“He’s your ally,” I counter, indignant.
Ryc shakes his head with a scoffed laugh. “He’s our ally, little love.”
“Our?” I repeat, bitter. “Does he know?” I demand, piercing Ryc with a fierce stare. “Does he know I’m innateless? About the crystal? Vaelyn? Rowen?”
Surprised by my tone, Ryc steps back. “Not—”
“Then you do not trust him,” I interject in a brash whisper. “He may serve your purpose, but he does not serve mine.”
“A rather cold perspective,” Ryc replies with a slow, realizing nod. “But one I can understand, given your history.” He pauses, lifting a hand to rub at his brow. “Listen, I trust Fenryn. The decision not to share those details isn’t because I don’t—it’s because they’re not mine to share.”
The heat of my indignant anger sputters and I grip it tight.
Fenryn has done nothing to prove to me he won’t turn on Ryc for his own benefit. Until then, my reluctance is better held.
“He may not know your secrets,” Ryc says. “But he knows mine. He’s known for the last six centuries.”
“Your aversion is well placed,” Fenryn’s muffled voice leaks through the closed door. “Smart to be wary in the company of Sovereign Kings. They’re all bastards.”
I close my eyes, heaving a long, long defeated sigh.
The damn imp has likely heard every word. What he didn’t know before, he knows now.
Ryc chuckles and I level a withering glare at the door. Leaning in, he tilts my chin upward with a gentle hand to leave a lingering kiss upon my cheek.
“If you’d rather him leave for this conversation,” he says, his lips brushing against mine, “he’ll leave.”
A dejected, muffled jeer sounds behind the door. “Ves, how am I supposed to win you over if you continue to hide from me?”
Grinning, Ryc straightens himself.
“He is my Eve,” Ryc says quietly.
I smother my defeated groan.
I can’t argue that.
With a triumphant smirk, Ryc opens the door and gestures with a toss of his head. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “As nosey as he is, he’s worth having around.”
“Nosy?” Fenryn echoes, mocking offense as Ryc closes the door behind us. “Of all the things you choose to call me, you choose nosy?”
“Didn’t you agree to leave?” Ryc laughs as he ushers me to his seat. He props himself against the short side of the desk as I seat myself. Folding his arms over his chest he says, “Or do I have to tell you to leave?”
Fenryn laughs, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. “Nay, you needn’t tell me. I know when I’m not wanted.”
The massive fae runs a hand through his tousled hair making a larger mess of the mess already there. His golden mane sits wrangled atop his head in a bun similar to the researchers earlier. Sans pens.
In fact, it’s strange to see him so… unpolished.
Donning white linen pants and a barely-buttoned matching shirt, he appears to have rolled out of bed and into Ryc’s study.
Judging by the half-awake look accompanying his smile, I’m inclined to believe the truth doesn’t lie far off.
And I wonder if Lilith is remains asleep believing him still beside her.
“Before I go, let me say this.” Fenryn sits up, uncrossing his legs. “Of all the Sovereign Kings you’ll have the misfortune of knowing, at least I’m good-looking and hilarious.” He shrugs callously with a quick downturned tilt of his lips.
My stare becomes withering.
“Does that work?” I ask, not bothering to mask the biting, bitter edge of my tone. “Does your veneer-thin facade of confidence win you trust and smiles and batted lashes?”
“Oh, Ves, I’ll argue you’ll find nothing thin about me,” he retorts without hesitation, a wicked smirk curling his lips.
“Fenryn,” Ryc groans in a sigh as he levels an unamused glare in the fae’s direction.
I remain silent, confused.
“Lilith keeps no secrets,” Fenryn adds with a wink.
What does Lilith have to do with—
Breakfast, the flowers, Lilith’s mortification at my question—she told him. She told him what I wondered.
“You cannot be—” I stop myself short, the heat of anger mixed with the rush of embarrassment flooding me. “If you do not consider using your thick head the next time you open your mouth—”
“Ah, Ves, it’s all in good fun,” Fenryn teases as he rises from his seat, his eyes gleaming. He sets a small bejeweled box upon the desk as he says, “Keep your claws, demon. You’ll need them come tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to use my thick head for other purposes.”